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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244234">Eggs Benedicked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2'>ckret2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RadioSnake Discord - Spicy Showdown Week [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Blow Jobs, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I need you to know that I'M SORRY and also I WAS BRIBED, Love Triangles, M/M, Nausea, No Strings Attached, Pining, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Self-Hatred, The Author Regrets Everything, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:33:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastor set down his whiskey bottle, gave the Egg Boi a sharp look, and asked slowly, "Why, would I <em>ever</em>, at <em>any</em> point, have the <em>slightest</em> interest in doing <em>anything</em> like that with <em>you?</em>"</p><p>The Egg Boi shrugged. "Cuz I'm the only one who'd let you play a recording of the bossman while blowing you and <em>not</em> make it into a whole thing?"</p><p>Alastor stared tiredly at the egg. And then he tried to imagine what it would be like to hear Sir Pentious's voice while he had an actual mouth wrapped around him. And then he propped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyelids. "Shhhff... heck."</p><p>"Weeell?" The Egg Boi poked Alastor's waist.</p><p>Alastor nearly reflexively smashed his whiskey bottle through the Egg Boi's face. Resigned, he said, "I refuse to be seen leaving a bar with a talking egg."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alastor/Egg Boi, Alastor/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel), Egg Boi/Sir Pentious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RadioSnake Discord - Spicy Showdown Week [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eggs Benedicked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So last week the RadioSnake discord I’m in ran a week-long event called <a href="https://hanekdraws.tumblr.com/post/616864101916983296/were-having-our-first-event-on-the-radiosnake">Spicy Showdown</a> and I fell behind because I kept writing fics a lot longer than I was meaning to. Day 5's prompt was "Egg Bois".</p><p>I wrote this fic for two reasons.</p><p>The first is because I said, "I have a <i>horrible</i> idea but I ain't gonna do it unless someone bribes me," and somebody else said, "You Owe Me A Debt."</p><p>The second is revenge against the moderators for giving us the prompt "Egg Bois" in the first place.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"There's no word yet on how Sir Pentious plans to rally from this latest thrashing at the hands Pentagram City's collective overlords," said Katie Killjoy, her voice tinny over the tiny speakers on the bar TV.</p><p>Wryly, Tom Trench said, "And that's assuming he <em>can</em> rally, after the beating he took."</p><p>"HA! You've got <em>that</em> right, Tom. Let's rewatch some of that footage we just showed you, I <em>love</em> this part where his blimp gets crushed by three heavy-hitters—"</p><p>"Airship," Alastor muttered at the TV screen. He tossed back the rest of his drink and played a hotel service bell sound to call the bartender's attention. "Could I get a refill?" He held up his glass and shook it.</p><p>The bartender started at the sound of the bell, jerking around to stare at Alastor. Half nervous and half disbelieving, he asked, "<em>Another?</em>"</p><p>Alastor stared at him, eyebrows raised, until the bartender's disbelief gave way entirely to nervousness. "Yes," Alastor said slowly. "Another."</p><p>The bartender scrambled to fill another glass. Alastor shook his head and turned back to the TV while he waited. "Some service—asking me if I want another drink in a <em>bar</em>. See if I'm going to leave a tip now," he said, not having had any intent to pay in the first place.</p><p>The barkeeper set another highball down.</p><p>Alastor tossed back half of it. "And they're joking about this like this loss is some glaring denunciation of his capabilities," he said, gesturing at the screen so violently his drink almost sloshed out of the glass. "'Let's laugh at the washed-up old supervillain getting crushed by three heavy-hitters'—do any of them think to point out that it <em>took</em> three heavy-hitters just to bring down one of his airships?"</p><p>He vaguely registered somebody sliding into the seat next to him—for the first time since he'd entered the bar. Good, an audience, he monologued better with an audience. (He was, at this point, drunk enough to forget that this wasn't the sort of monologue he wanted an audience for.)</p><p>He automatically turned on his barstool slightly toward his new neighbor to continue his rant, his gaze not once drifting from the screen. "How about they talk about the fact that three heavy-hitters <em>came after him</em> at once, huh? Or, or more like—how many overlords got involved in on that scrap, anyway? I think I counted six? When every other damn turf war down here is one-on-one, maybe two-on-one if somebody calls an ally—what're half a dozen doing going after one target? Especially one who doesn't even <em>qualify</em> as an 'overlord,' stupid as that whole system is."</p><p>Sir Pentious's face flashed on the screen and Alastor hesitated for a moment, his ears pricking up; but it wasn't footage where he'd be speaking, just the publicity photo that 666 News always used for him. Alastor continued talking to drown out the news anchors' commentary: "Sure, ask them why they all took time out of their day to thrash Sir Pent's newest ship, and they're gonna say it's because it's <em>funny</em>, or sheer sadism, but no. No no no. I've been around enough of the self-centered, power-hungry brutes that call themselves overlords to know they don't <em>coordinate</em> like that for <em>fun</em>. This—" Alastor shook a finger at the screen, "—is a <em>pre-emptive</em> attack. They remember how dangerous he used to be—either from their history textbooks or from back when he was in the overlord leagues himself—and they're terrified of him. They know if they don't keep kicking him while he's down, he's going to build his power back up—and then he's a threat to <em>all</em> their power. But here's 6N talking about it like it's some big joke." Alastor scoffed, taking another sip from his drink.</p><p>"Yeah, that's what the bossman thinks too."</p><p>Alastor sprayed his drink halfway across the bar top, turned to stare in horror at his neighbor—<em>an egg. It was one of the eggs. He'd been talking to an egg</em>—and then, while trying to decide whether he should bolt from the bar or crush the egg to eliminate the witness, tossed back the rest of his drink.</p><p>"Heya, Mr. Radio Demon," the Egg Boi said brightly. "The name's Sixty-Six!" He spun in his seat to point at the #66 carefully painted on the back of his shell.</p><p>"Congratulations," said Alastor, who had by now switched to debating whether he should merely crush the egg or burn down the entire bar.</p><p>The bartender had caught sight of the Egg Boi, and he cracked a sadistic grin. "Hey, look who it is! One of the loser's henchboys! Ha! Overgrown worm give you the night off after getting his ass scraped across the pavement?"</p><p>Alastor decided to burn down the entire bar. He glanced around for something flammable—oh, obviously, there was a whole wall of booze behind the bartender—and tried to focus long enough to ignite it. Wobbly red sigils wove in between the bottles.</p><p>"Yeah, actually!" Sixty-Six said. "We aren't starting salvage operations until the morning—"</p><p>"I don't really give a shit." The bartender thudded an elbow down on the bar top—although not near Alastor's side of the Egg Boi—and said, "Whaddaya want, henchboy?"</p><p>"Gimme a flip," Sixty-Six said. "With sherry. And extra nutmeg."</p><p>The bartender looked Sixty-Six up and down. "You mean the flip that's made with an egg?"</p><p>Defensively, Sixty-Six said, "Yeah? <em>And</em> extra nutmeg."</p><p>The red sigils faded away. "And make me another highball while you're over there," Alastor threw in. Okay. He'd stick around long enough to watch an egg commit cannibalism. That was funny. He could use another drink or two before burning down the bar, anyway. He wanted to black out hard enough that he wouldn't just forget this entire night, but most of the next week.</p><p>When the bartender had left, the Egg Boi turned back to Alastor, giving him a cracked-shell grin.</p><p>Alastor returned the grin—as if he could do otherwise—but tried not to look friendly about it. "Why are you sitting next to me."</p><p>"I thought you might wanna talk."</p><p>Alastor laughed condescendingly. "Why would I <em>ever</em> want to talk to an <em>Egg Boi?</em>"</p><p>Sixty-Six pointed at the TV screen. "Because you asked the bartender to switch to the coverage of Mr. Bossman's fight and you've been watching it for an hour and a half."</p><p>Alastor opened his mouth. Static came out. He shut it. He tried again. "Wow, they've been... they've been doing nonstop coverage of one fight for an hour and a half?"</p><p>"Sure! There's a lot to cover!" Sixty-Six said proudly. "We flattened the <em>whole</em> east side of the city."</p><p>"Yes, I <em>know</em> that." He would have known that even if he hadn't been watching the news; it looked like a war zone out there.</p><p>He glanced back toward the screen so he didn't have to keep staring at the stupid little idiot egg's face, and was immediately transfixed. They were playing footage that, based on the watermark in the corner, had apparently been recorded and submitted by Vox; it showed Sir Pentious at the shattered window of his airship's bridge, a chain wrapped around his waist and extending back to some anchor point inside the ship so he didn't risk falling out despite how dangerously the sinking ship was tilting, visibly shaking with unheard megalomaniacal cackles as he wildly fired off what looked like a lightning-spewing blunderbuss.</p><p>A lump formed in Alastor's throat. He'd seen the lightning from across the city while the fight was still raging and assumed it was some power one of the overlords had pulled out; but no. Sir Pentious's weapon, one of his own inventions. Look at him go. At least he had some fun before he got taken down.</p><p>Sixty-Six piped up, "He's <em>so</em> attractive. I could just watch him fight <em>forever</em>, couldn't you?"</p><p>Alastor flinched. There were few things worse than hearing his exact sentiments being conveyed in <em>that voice</em>.</p><p>But at this point there wasn't much point in pretending that he hadn't been found out by an Egg Boi, was there. You couldn't have an argument with a moron without looking like a moron yourself. He dropped his gaze to one of his empty glasses. "How is he?"</p><p>"He's doing pretty good! He just broke an arm and electrocuted himself a little," Sixty-Six said cheerfully. "He's not even gonna have to pull out the rocket wheelchair while he recovers this time!"</p><p>That was a hell of a lot of information packed into a couple of sentences. For some reason Alastor latched onto, "He has a <em>rocket wheelchair?</em>"</p><p>"Well, yeah!" Sixty-Six shrugged. "He says regular ones are too slow!"</p><p>"Is it safe?"</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"Then—Then why does he use it?"</p><p>"He says regular ones are too slow!"</p><p>Alastor didn't really know what he expected.</p><p>The bartender set down a martini glass for Sixty-Six. "Didn't have any fuckin' nutmeg," he grunted. "I used cinnamon."</p><p>"It'll do," Sixty-Six said, teetering on his seat as he nodding.</p><p>"Make that highball a double," Alastor called after the bartender, then focused on Sixty-Six again. "Okay, you've told me why you thought I might care about—any of this, but you haven't told me what <em>you're</em> doing over here. What are you doing over here."</p><p>"Talking about Mr. Bossman," Sixty-Six said.</p><p>"You have hundreds of egg clones <em>just</em> as obsessed with him as you to talk about him with."</p><p>"After the last fight, it's kind of down to dozens."</p><p>How much was Sir Pentious going to have to rebuild <em>this</em> time? Alastor tried to push his worries away. "Dozens. Why are you talking to me about him instead of them?"</p><p>Sixty-Six glanced away from Alastor, rocking back and forth on his round butt as he kicked his feet nervously. "Well..." He picked up his drink and took a dainty sip. "They don't... have what I need."</p><p>"Oh?" Was the egg here to make a deal, then? Did Egg Bois have souls to bargain with? Alastor didn't think so, but he was willing to accept alternative payments. He turned more fully toward Sixty-Six, laced his hands together, rested one elbow on the bar top, and tried to look a bit more like the vicious supernatural loan shark he was and a bit less like he'd been binge drinking himself into a stupor for the last hour and a half. "All right. I'm listening." To complete the look, he decided to take a dangerous risk with his currently-impaired balance and crossed an ankle over his knee. "What is it you need?"</p><p>Sixty-Six looked up at him and said earnestly, "An injection of hot, throbbing penis."</p><p>Alastor's ankle slipped and he fell off his seat. He caught himself on the bar top and barstool before he hit the floor and shakily pulled himself back on his seat. "I... <em>No?</em> Why would I—No? <em>Why?</em>" He picked up one of his glasses, only to be immediately reminded that he'd already drained them all.</p><p>"Look." Sixty-Six slapped a hand down on the bar top with a rubbery <em>plap</em>. "I'm not gonna beat around the bush with you, Mr. Radio Demon. Let's lay all our cards out. You want the boss inside and/or surrounding your anatomy."</p><p>Where was that next drink.</p><p>"And me," Sixty-Six said, "I want him deep in my mouth." He stuck out his tongue and pointed.</p><p>Alastor no longer had enough patience to wait for his next drink. A shadow appeared next to the bartender, wrenched the whiskey bottle out of his grasp, and tossed it to Alastor. Alastor took a deep swig.</p><p>Sixty-Six concluded, "So we can help each other."</p><p>Alastor set down the bottle and only partially managed to suppress a grimace. "<em>Help</em> each—What, <em>how?</em> Do you think that I'm going to—that I'm <em>capable</em> of helping you... what, what do you think we're going to do, <em>seduce</em> Sir Pentious?" And that would only help <em>one </em>of them anyway, unless Sixty-Six was planning on sharing.</p><p>It kind of scared Alastor that he was now seriously wondering whether a threesome involving an egg was worth it if it meant he could spend a couple of hours with Sir Pentious in his arms.</p><p>"No, of course not!" Sixty-Six waved his spindly little hand, banishing the suggestion. "The boss is way out of <em>both</em> of our leagues."</p><p>Something constricted painfully around Alastor's lungs. He glanced up at the TV screen—now showing an older headshot of Sir Pentious along with pictures of all the other overlords that had been involved in the recent fight. Even in that tiny shot, he looked so smug, so ambitious, so cunning.</p><p>He clinked the butt of his whiskey bottle against the egg's glass. "Cheers to that," he muttered.</p><p>Sixty-Six took a sip with Alastor. His beady little eyes glowing in the dark void of his shell darted up to look at the screen—at Sir Pentious's picture—and for a moment his smooth shell face almost managed to look morose.</p><p>But the moment passed and he perked back up. "So!" He set his drink down. "Here's what I was thinking. I get to pretend that your penis is his. <em>You</em> get to pretend that <em>my mouth</em> is his. Aaand..." He gestured back and forth several times between Alastor's crotch and his own face, smiling encouragingly.</p><p>"<em>Stop that.</em>" Alastor twisted his seat around so that Sixty-Six couldn't keep pointing at him. He set down his whiskey bottle, gave the Egg Boi a sharp look, and asked slowly, "Why, would I <em>ever</em>, at <em>any</em> point, have the <em>slightest</em> interest in doing <em>anything</em> like that with <em>you?</em>"</p><p>Sixty-Six shrugged. "Cuz I'm the only one who'd let you play a recording of the bossman while blowing you and <em>not</em> make it into a whole thing?"</p><p>Alastor stared tiredly at the egg. And then he tried to imagine what it would be like to hear Sir Pentious's voice while he had an actual mouth wrapped around him. And then he propped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyelids. "Shhhff... heck."</p><p>"Weeell?" Sixty-Six poked Alastor's waist.</p><p>Alastor nearly reflexively smashed his whiskey bottle through Sixty-Six's face. Resigned, he said, "I refuse to be seen leaving a bar with a talking egg."</p><p>"Oh! Well, we could leave separately—"</p><p>"No, no. I've got a better idea. Hold on." Alastor picked up his bottle, upturned it, and chugged it down as fast as he could.</p><p>"Wow," Sixty-Six said, voice hushed with awe. "You're <em>really</em> good at that, Mr. Radio Demon—"</p><p>"Shut up." He slammed the empty bottle down. "Got a light?"</p><p>"Uh, no—"</p><p>"Not a problem." He spun around on his seat, vision swimming, and yelled out at the bar, "Hey!"</p><p>The entire bar flinched at once.</p><p>"First fellow to gimme a lighter doesn't get mutilated tonight!"</p><p>He immediately had four lighters chucked at him. He scrambled to catch one. "Thank you!" He looked around the bar, picked out one guest that he thought might have been among the ones chucking things at him, and opened up a portal beneath her chair. She fell through it screaming.</p><p>Then he turned back around, chucked his empty whiskey bottle at the rows of bottles behind the bar, and dropped the lit lighter in the fresh pool of alcohol.</p><p>Then he scooped the Egg Boi under an arm and sprinted for the door.</p><p>###</p><p>The street tilted and bent strangely in Alastor's vision; every few feet, he almost tripped over his own hooves. He was, he thought, just nearly drunk enough to get through this.</p><p>"Where are we going?" Sixty-Six asked, tottering along beside Alastor as fast as he could. "To <em>your</em> place, Mr. Radio Demon?"</p><p>"If I <em>had</em> a place, eggs wouldn't be invited. We're going to borrow a room." He knew which apartments kept unoccupied show rooms around here. The apartments around here knew not to investigate if they heard someone shuffling into their show rooms past midnight—and to wait until the door unlocked itself before sending someone in to clean up the blood.</p><p>"Okie-dokie!" </p><p>Alastor had to focus on his own footsteps too much to pay too close attention to Sixty-Six's, but he was pretty sure the egg wasn't terribly steady on his feet, either. He was seized by a sudden, intense urge to kick the egg into the street and watch his yolk smear across the pavement. He resisted the urge.</p><p>###</p><p>"I've got <em>lots</em> of recordings of the boss," Sixty-Six said. He was sitting on the edge of the showroom's bed, kicking his feet against the mattress, not at all bothered by the fact that Alastor was pacing back and forth by the foot of the bed. He had a little glassy block in his hand that rumor had it was supposed to be a phone, although Alastor remained skeptical of the claim. "Doing interviews, monologuing, giving orders..."</p><p>"No interviews," Alastor said stiffly. "I've no interest in listening to some broadcaster's voice cutting in between his answers." Someone like what Alastor used to be. He could be that interviewer, asking those questions—throw out all the cue cards that said <em>and why haven't you had a major victory against any big league overlords in the last fifty years?</em> and replace them with <em>and why is it you think the local overlords put so much more effort than normal into keeping you down?</em> Listening to those recordings, envy would eat him from the stomach out.</p><p>"You got it!" Sixty-Six kept scrolling on his "phone." "I <em>really</em> like the recordings of orders. Getting ordered around by the bossman is just..." He sighed lovingly.</p><p>Alastor cringed. "And I suppose he doesn't have any complaints about being secretly recorded by one of his underlings."</p><p>"Not when <em>I</em> do it," Sixty-Six boasted. "I'm his favorite."</p><p>"<em>Are</em> you?" Alastor rolled his eyes. It took a moment for him to stop seeing double.</p><p>"I sure am! I'm his lucky number. He even let me take a selfie with him for my lock screen. Look!" Sixty-Six clicked a button and held up the phone. Alastor bent over to see.</p><p>Sir Pentious was crouched down with his tail coiled up, grimacing in irritation but with a faint affectionate quirk at the corner of his mouth, his eyes soft with amusement. Alastor stared until Sixty-Six pulled his phone back without once registering whether or not there was indeed an egg somewhere in the picture.</p><p>Alastor stood quickly—almost a little too quickly—and glanced away, trying to keep his expression even. "Go with a monologue," he said. He didn't think he'd be able to stand listening to orders directed at <em>Egg Bois</em>.</p><p>"Okay! Uh... <em>This</em> is a good one."</p><p>The room was filled with the sound of Sir Pentious's maniacal laugh, so sudden and loud and realistic that Alastor jumped. For a moment, he was convinced that Sir Pentious was in the room. What the hell were they putting in phones these days?</p><p>"Behold," Sir Pentious's voice cried, "the latest, greatest, and most diabolical of my inventions!"</p><p>Alastor sank down on the bed, eyes sliding shut, soaking in the voice.</p><p>"They said it could never be done! They said that lasers of such <em>assstounding desstructive power</em> were the purview of ssscience fiction! They'll be saying something <em>different</em> tomorrow, when I effortlessly incinerate all who stand before me with one sweep of—"</p><p>Alastor felt a tiny hand on his pants fly.</p><p>He bolted to his feet and rounded furiously on the Egg Boi. "Ground rules," he snapped.</p><p>"Oh, yeah!" Sixty-Six paused the monologue, rocking forward and back as he nodded. "That's a great idea—"</p><p>Alastor silenced him with one finger to the tip of his head, stopping him from rocking. "Rule one, Humpty-Dumpty: no talking. From either of us. I'm not going to say a word to you, and I don't want to hear so much as a <em>giggle</em> out of you."</p><p>"Of course," Sixty-Six said. "We're here to listen to the bossman! It's gonna ruin the illusion if we're talking to each <em>other</em>."</p><p>Alastor <em>hated</em> that he didn't have to explain himself at all for Sixty-Six to empathize, <em>hated</em> that Sixty-Six understood perfectly. He hated that the sickening impotent longing that roiled through his chest was no different from what was bouncing inside the empty heads of the insufferable, vapid, fawning <em>Egg Bois</em>.</p><p>"Rule two: no touching. I don't want to feel your hands, your feet, or <em>anything</em> but your mouth on me."</p><p>"Okay! You got it, Mr. Radio Demon!" Sixty-Six saluted. "And, on a similar note..."</p><p>"What."</p><p>"Well, <em>usually,</em> you would give a blow job by getting between somebody's knees to suck, right?"</p><p>Alastor grit his teeth. "Usually I'd sooner bite someone's bits off than blow them, but get to the point."</p><p>"Ooh, kinky—"</p><p>"<em>Get to the point!</em>"</p><p>Sixty-Six started. "Okay, okay! It's just that being in between someone's legs isn't... you know... very <em>snakey.</em>"</p><p>That gave Alastor pause. No, he supposed it wasn't, was it? And he and Sixty-Six had entered into an implicit social contract. If Sixty-Six was going to be regulating his own behavior to ensure that it was as easy as possible for Alastor to pretend that his partner was Sir Pentious instead of a goddamn egg, then Alastor could dredge up the minimal sympathy needed to do the same for Sixty-Six.</p><p>At this point, however, he was too inebriated to figure out how. "Well, I—I can't exactly shapeshift my legs away. So what do you expect me to do about it?"</p><p>Sixty-Six planted his fists on his sides. "Huh."</p><p>###</p><p>What they did about it, ultimately, was put Sixty-Six on a doubled-up pillow at the head of the bed, wrap a bedsheet around Alastor's thighs to keep them tight together, and have him kneel in front of the pillow.</p><p>Then Alastor killed the lights and Sixty-Six turned on the monologue.</p><p>"—an't you just imagine it now? The smell of their simmering flesh. The terror in their eyes! The <em>ssscreams</em> of the damned as they realize they have far less to fear from the tortures meted out for their sins than they do to fear from <em>I</em>, for <em>my</em> tortures aren't distributed with an eye to whether or not the victims <em>deserve</em> them but merely whether they will <em>entertain me</em>—"</p><p>Alastor pressed his forehead against the wall and pressed one wrist into his mouth to keep himself silent. He was fully dressed—didn't want to expose an inch more of himself than he had to—and the bedsheet cocooning his pants made his legs uncomfortably hot and sweaty. He couldn't thrust without risking shattering his partner against the headboard, so he tensed his abdomen and clenched the headboard every time he was tempted.</p><p>The tongue gliding around him was hot and soft and slimy and it felt <em>absolutely amazing</em>, and he tried very hard not to remember what it was made of.</p><p>"Hell may indeed be cruel!" The voice in the recording cackled. "But I am <em>far</em> crueler!"</p><p>He'd been worried that he'd never be able to forget what was wrapped around him as long as he was feeling the edges of thin cracked shell against his skin instead of lips. But his mind was just fuzzy enough and the jagged points were just sharp enough that he could believe they were the tips of fangs.</p><p>"Any who don't bow down shall be <em>swept aside</em>—they can join the slag that will flow through the <em>new</em> river my lasers shall carve through Hades—"</p><p>Alastor's claws dug deep into the wooden headboard and he bit down on his wrist so hard he drew blood. He was dizzy, almost nauseous, completely swept up by the voice and by imagining that somehow the same mouth hissing those words was the one wrapped around him.</p><p>He passed out almost as soon as he came.</p><p>###</p><p>Alastor woke up in a strange bed with a pounding headache. That wasn't weird. All beds were strange and the headaches were common.  He'd been trying to cut down—hadn't been doing a bad job of it, in fact; it helped that Sir Pentious wasn't on the news much these days—but backslides like this were still... well, they happened.</p><p>His arm was numb where it was hanging over the edge of the mattress. Why was he so close to the edge of the bed? He rolled over.</p><p>An Egg Boi stared at him. "Good morning!"</p><p>Alastor rolled back over, hid his face in his pillow, and screamed.</p><p>###</p><p>"We should do this again sometime," Sixty-Six said, already up and about.</p><p>Alastor's stomach turned. He dropped a pillow on his head.</p><p>"I'll leave you my number!"</p><p>"I don't have a phone," Alastor muttered into the mattress.</p><p>Sixty-Six was silent a moment. "I'll leave you my phone!" There was a clicking sound as he set it down.</p><p>"You <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"The boss mass-produces them, it's fine! I'll get another. He won't be mad at <em>me</em>."</p><p>No, of course not. Not his <em>favorite</em>.</p><p>Alastor sat up and looked at the little flat panel Sixty-Six had left on the bedside table. His stomach churned again.</p><p>He wasn't sure if it was with envy—the boss's <em>favorite</em>—or with anticipatory self-loathing.</p><p>Because he knew that, if he got another call—from somebody who understood and empathized, from somebody who was willing to ease the pain for an hour, from somebody who said "The boss is way out of <em>both</em> of our leagues" in a voice trembling with a yearning/despair that harmonized with the frequency constantly playing in Alastor's chest—he would probably be weak, and he'd do this again. And he'd hate himself a little more.</p><p>He dragged himself out of bed and got to his feet.</p><p>"Maybe he'll let me take another selfie with him!" Sixty-Six said, with a mortifyingly mawkish affection that sounded exactly like a voice in Alastor's head. "If I'm lucky, <em>maybe</em> he'll even put his <em>hand</em> on my back. Oh, <em>boy</em>, I'd <em>love</em> it if he—"</p><p>Alastor brought his hoof down straight through the top of the egg's shell.</p><p>He pulled out his leg, shook off a bit of slimy shell, and looked down grimly at the dead egg.</p><p>"Eggs benedict," he muttered to himself. He carefully scooped up the corpse. "Good for hangovers." He dropped the runny remains on the kitchen counter and ventured into the hall to find a neighbor he could terrify into giving him a couple of english muffins.</p><p>###</p><p>There was a bitter, salty aftertaste to Alastor's breakfast he couldn't quite identify. He hadn't added any salt. What had gotten into the egg?</p><p>When he figured it out, he almost threw up.</p><p>###</p><p>He'd finished breakfast, he'd choked down as much water bending under the kitchen sink as he could, he'd showered, and he'd gotten dressed to leave, when the flat glass phone on the bedside table rang.</p><p>Alastor froze.</p><p>Then he picked up the phone.</p><p>At the bottom of the screen were two colored circles, a red one and green one, and at the top was a string of tiny pictures of hearts and snakes. Alastor's stomach sank.</p><p>He should have set the phone down. He pressed one of the circles. Green means go, right?</p><p>He sat down on the edge of the bed and held the phone up to his face.</p><p>"Where <em>are</em> you?!"</p><p>Alastor's voice died in his throat.</p><p>"You'd <em>better</em> answer me!"</p><p>Phone technology had come a long way. It sounded like he was in the same room as Alastor. Inches from his ear. Alastor felt like he should have been able to feel his breath on his face as he spoke.</p><p>"<em>Hellooo?</em> This is your <em>boss</em> speaking, I <em>command</em> you to anssswer!" A moment of silence. "Just—lisssten, someone spotted the Radio Demon kidnapping one of my minions last night, if it was <em>you</em>—I..." His voice faltered for a moment. "Well—<em>say something!</em>"</p><p>Alastor clapped a hand over his mouth. Not one decibel of static to leak over the cell phone.</p><p>"Hello? <em>Hello? </em>Why aren't you answering me! Is your speaker broken? Are you..." A shaky inhale.</p><p>Alastor squeezed his eyes shut.</p><p>"Alastor—" (it felt like a punch to his queasy gut) "—if <em>you've</em> taken him, I <em>sswear</em> I..."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Then a sigh on the other end of the line. "Get to the rendezvous point, Sixty-Six. Salvage ops are starting in under an hour."</p><p>The phone beeped at him as the call ended, but it didn't have to; he could feel it in his hand as the signal went dead.</p><p>He dropped the phone to the floor, pulled his knees up to his forehead, and fought against his nausea to keep his breakfast down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is one of my many various &amp; sundry fics that sort of assumes that <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776062">Cold Day In Hell</a> is the backstory but that isn't itself canon to the CDIH verse. If you want an explanation for why Alastor has a miserable secret crush on a snake, you can read that!</p><p>If you wanna read <i>more</i> Alastor doing things he regrets in the morning in an attempt to suppress his emotions for a snake, I recommend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832007">Public Displays of Affection</a>, which is twice as humiliating for Alastor but has zero eggs and so is arguably less painful. It depends on your tolerance for eggs and/or humiliation.</p><p>Post for the fic available on <a href="https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/618415739735572480/eggs-benedicked">tumblr</a>. Comments/reblogs there are very welcome (as are comments here)!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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